


John and Sherlock Give Sally a Shock

by Meretseger68



Series: Always John [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cabbies always know first, Cake, Damn where is the smut?, Kissing, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Sweepstake winner, Tea, just kissing, taking it slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2625635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meretseger68/pseuds/Meretseger68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock decide to go public ... well, Sherlock does anyway. Some warning would have been nice there Sherlock.<br/>There is tea. And cake. Lestrade is quite pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John and Sherlock Give Sally a Shock

Another cold day at a crime scene. Sally huddled into her coat and wondered where Anderson was. It was almost good that the old team was finally back together again. She didn’t know how many strings had been pulled – and didn’t want to know who’d done the pulling – to get Anderson his job back. They had gradually got used to each other again over the previous year and were back to the comfortable routine. Most of the old comfortable routine anyway. She hadn’t been too impressed with the beard or the persistent fan-girling about the Freak so had kept their relationship strictly professional this time around.

She could hear voices, carried on the wind as it whipped off the Thames Embankment. Lestrade talking to someone. Deep voice, too fast to hear the words. Oh. Anderson was hiding somewhere then. Of his own accord or the DI’s – Sally wasn’t certain but she guessed that it reduced the sarcasm quota at the crime scene. They hadn’t seen the Freak for a while. No loss as far as Sally was concerned but Lestrade seemed to have quite an unhealthy faith in his abilities. The voices came nearer. Not just the Freak then, his little ‘friend’ was in tow. Sally had always wondered about him - mousey looking at first but with a backbone and a military record to match (and always the rumour about that cabbie) - and the living arrangements in that pit they lived in (John ‘Not Gay’ Watson had confounded them all by coming back on the radar a married/separated/divorced man).

Lestrade shook their hands at the tape and turned away no doubt to start barking orders from the script that the Freak had given him. Sally tried not to stare. There was just the merest nod of acknowledgment from both of them then the Freak stepped into the road to demonstrate his cab charming skills. On cue a black car appeared and a long fingered hand held the door open so the shorter man could enter first. Sally nearly laughed out loud, trust the Freak to be more of a gentleman with a man than he ever had been with a woman. Oh, not that much of a gentleman then, the Freak … the Freak had …

When Lestrade made it back to the tape he called twice to get Sally’s attention, eventually standing in front of her and waving a hand in front of her stunned face. “Earth to Donovan, come in Donovan.”

“The Freak …” she started, not noticing the automatic correction from her boss, “… he’s gay.”

“Yes Donovan, amazing powers of deduction, knew I kept you around for a reason.” Lestrade looked amused. “Sherlock’s actually a bit more complicated than that, but why bring it up now and why look so shocked about it?”

“He was with the little fella …” again she didn’t notice the way Lestrade inserted the correct name as she still stared in the direction of the departed cab “… and I swear he grabbed his arse when they got in the cab and then he started snogging his face off.”

“Sally …”

“Little fella said he wasn’t gay.”

“Sally …”

“Vicky C in the custody suite said he was the best shag she’d ever had, said he was really, really considerate … oh ... I guess that was the give-away.” Sally wondered again what she’d ever seen in Anderson.

“Donovan!” Lestrade barked at his junior officer.

“But …” she pointed in the direction of the long gone cab. If Lestrade hadn’t been so concerned about his friends – all of his friends – he might have laughed at the ‘Invasion of Body Snatchers’ pose that she’d unconsciously adopted. Of all of the people to flaunt themselves to. Lestrade didn’t imagine the move was accidental and he could guess whose idea it had been. They had been professional enough over the body (as professional as Sherlock ever was with his fondness for copper-baiting), they hadn’t touched each other or said anything out of the ordinary. If John had seemed to smile more, or if his eyes had seemed livelier than people had seen recently – well – he’d had a rough few years of it, maybe he was putting things behind him.

“Sally.” This time she actually looked at him. “Congratulations. I’ll make sure you get the money off the ‘first to spot them at it’ sweepstake. I don’t know if we still have a book running on how long it would take, you know, with one of them being dead for two years but someone will work it out.” He harrumphed and did his best to look hassled rather than letting out the grin he was trying desperately to suppress. Lestrade raised his hand, a pair of gloves grasped like a trophy. “I guess I’d better text Sherlock to let him know he left his gloves here. If it’s likely that they are … ahem … moving on with their relationship then there’s no way I’m going back there unannounced.

“Do you think they are …? Really …?” Dark ringlets of hair shook as Donovan shivered at the thought. The gossip, the assumptions for years and she’d seen them, actually seen them eating each other’s faces off. “No, it’s a stunt. I don’t know how the Freak did it but that … no.”

“Sally. Face it. Sherlock’s human. He’s just different is all. And I know we’ve not seen this before but it doesn’t really change either of them – Sherlock’s still annoyingly right and John’s a saint to put up with him. Whatever it is that they have going on it’s not our business.” It was getting hard to hide the grin. “Sally. Sally … are we going to have to discuss the diversity course again?”

≡≡≡

Nothing much was said in the back of the cab. After giving their address to the cabbie John was surprised to find his face full of Sherlock. Of course he kissed him back. And was kissed. And kissed back. It felt fantastic. John let himself get carried away with the sensation of lips and darting tongue, the upturn of his face controlled by the pressure of violinist’s fingers – strong and sure.

The warmth, the moist intrusion, withdrew suddenly. John blinked. In a cab. He was in a cab with Sherlock and … and he’d just … “You stopped!”

“We’re out of sight.” As if that answered everything, Sherlock sat back in his seat and watched London go by.

“But you stopped? Why did you stop?” John tried not to notice the interested eyebrows of the cabbie in the rear view mirror, oh, he must have had quite a view of them.

“I thought the intention was to show New Scotland Yard that we were a couple now without having to announce it. You were the one who said an email wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“You git. You absolute git.” This hiss came out slightly louder than the doctor had intended as he readjusted his position to ease an unexpected pressure. “Bloody hell man, have a care for the effect you have.”

Sherlock just stared. Something somewhere in that massively intelligent (but ridiculously naïve) head was being analysed. Lips plumped and moistened with John’s saliva made a small moue of doubt. “Did I do that right? Is that the way it’s supposed to feel?”

John stopped himself from the – rather miffed - Janine comment he’d been ready to make when he noticed the dilated pupils, the pulse hammering against the open scarf (had he put the finger marks on that white neck?). The great daft git had just made a move on him. The shiest person John had ever known had just snogged him senseless while other people could see. Part of it had just been for show, but John was convinced that Sherlock had been there, fully present in the experience and not just performing. As he smiled and got his breath back he wondered if maybe, just maybe, this time the Belstaff was hiding more than Sherlock had admitted to before.

Bad tempered rush hour traffic honked and howled as the cab wove its way to Baker St, the driver intent on the road ahead, wary of the eddies of cyclists and pedestrians. Behind his head John Watson held Sherlock’s hand in his own and may have assured him that it was all good. By the time the car pulled up at the familiar black door the driver definitely hadn’t taken any notice of the shorter man lean over to plant a long, slow kiss on the blushing detective’s lips. A second discreet cough was needed to indicate that they’d reached their destination.

Somewhat unfocussed Sherlock reached across and pushed the door open for John, his free hand fished about in the depths of the Belstaff for his wallet. “Brian, sorry about that … just, ahm, just getting used to something new.”

“Don’t worry Mr Holmes. I won’t say a word.” The face in the rear view mirror smiled at the tall detective bent awkwardly in the back of the cab. A lot of the London cabbies either knew or knew of the address, the terrible business with the ‘suicide’ had brought many tourists to the area.

“Don’t feel you have to be circumspect on my account. I’m sure there could be at least one free breakfast in it for you if the subject should happen to come up in your Cabman’s Shelter.” There was an extra note in the money passed through the little window as Sherlock paused before following John. “I’m glad your wife’s come back, must be a relief to you that she saw sense. I said she was just confused. It can happen to the best of us. And your youngest is at university now isn’t she? How is she settling in?” John looked back from the open doorway of 221B, waiting for his boyfriend (boyfriend! That was definitely out of the bag now) to catch up. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.” The smile that had charmed so many had become genuine. “Sorry, looks like I’m wanted.”

“Talking to random cabbies now?” John pushed the door shut.

“Brian had some domestic misunderstandings earlier in the year, played havoc with his daughter’s exam revision so I helped out a bit.”

“You?” John couldn’t help it, the question came out with a healthy side order of disbelief.

“Well, with the revision. Smart kid. Just needed a bit of confidence and calming down. Then I might have had a few words with the wife to help her think a bit clearer.”

“No one died?”

“No.” Sherlock was at the top of the stairs, stupid git with his stupid long legs looking down at John.

“And everyone is happy now?” John searched for the catch, for the angle that he must have missed as Sherlock nodded and disappeared into their living room. “When did this happen?”

“When things weren’t … very happy for you.” Coat and scarf were gone, Sherlock loomed up close. “I didn’t seem to be able to help you so I helped someone else. I had to help someone. Was that ok?”

“Well.” John stepped closer and pulled Sherlock’s mouth to his own. “Aren’t we just full of surprises today Mr Holmes?” It was time to reinforce the lesson from the back of the cab.

≡≡≡

Sherlock looked as cool and detached as he ever had done when Lestrade followed Mrs Hudson into the living room of 221B. The ‘not-housekeeper’ set down her tea tray with aplomb and disappeared back downstairs humming happily to herself. Lestrade took John’s chair and faced his consulting detective over the china and confectionary.

“She’s been like this for weeks now, the unrelenting happiness is starting to wear.” The deep voice sounded mystified at the possible cause of such good humour even as Sherlock’s eyes crinkled up in a smile.

“Well, you’re both back on top of the Scotland Yard gossip list. I had to send Donovan home with the vapours. What’s next? Advert in the Times?” Lestrade swapped the pretext returned gloves for the teapot and began pouring. “You are still something of a celebrity, the detective back from the dead and all that. People will want to know.”

“No need. All the cabbies will probably know by now so it will be old news for London should anyone be shallow enough to be interested. And what cabbies know today the world will know tomorrow.” Sherlock accepted the cup and saucer from the older man and shouted through to the back of the flat that they had a guest.

“Molly?”

“I went to ask her for some more women’s toes yesterday.” Straight faced, clearly Sherlock had no idea how mad he could sound. “Whole feet would be better but John said we didn’t have enough space in the fridge. I’m looking to work out the correlation between heel height and damage to women’s toes, need quite a wide sample.” Lestrade raised his eyebrows and managed not to sigh. “Oh, Molly, yes. I took her for coffee and explained that I’d started seeing John, and apologised for any misapprehension that she might have had about me but that I thought she should know before hearing it from anyone else.” The words were a tumble, the DI wondered how many times they’d been rehearsed and repeated and how much sense Sherlock would have been able to make distracted, as he was, by the thought of working out what sort of shoe a barefoot female corpse might have worn.

“And then I got a phone call from her and took her for another coffee and explained properly.” John appeared from the bedroom, Sherlock’s bedroom, and nabbed the slice of pound cake that Sherlock had been hovering over. “Molly’s not stupid, I guess she was always more hopeful than actually expecting anything. I think she’s pleased for us, well, for him … she said I could call her any time if I needed someone to talk to.” John took the third cup and settled on the arm of Sherlock’s chair.

They looked comfortable together. Lestrade tried to save the image – John smiling innocently down at Sherlock while the young man’s face showed some astonishment that he could be the cause of any stress. The two idiots finally getting together. Of course Molly would understand. And if Molly needed any consoling well, Greg was her friend too …

“Mycroft?” Would there be any more mystery kidnappings disguised as a lift home from the concerned brother?

“Sorted – CCTV followed us all the way home.” Lestrade fancied he may have seen a hint of pride on pale features at John’s observation.

“And how about parents? Other family?” Lestrade had been intrigued by John’s description of the Holmes’ seniors and their dotty but pleasant hospitality. Though they seemed to take a slight case of festive drugging in their stride would they be as comfortable with confirmation of their youngest son’s proclivities? Greg tried not to think about the disappointed face of own mother and the ‘well you know what’s for the best’ at the breakdown of marriages one and two. Parents could be tricky. Mycroft didn’t count as family, he was the government.

“Oh. Yes. Thanks for reminding me Gilbey.” Smiling at the persistent use of the wrong name came like a reflex. Lestrade couldn’t recall being called a gin before, Sherlock must have been really working hard to come up that one. “John has just had a long chat with his sister. I’m about to ask him to call Mike to see if they can postpone their ‘last Friday of the month session’ as I have my parents on standby to get my old room ready for the weekend.” He sipped his tea, playing for time while John’s face went through the ‘oh shit – Mike!’ routine. “I said it would be the two of us coming over … and that we’d only be needing the one room. Was that okay?”

“You definitely said one room?” Lestrade couldn’t remember seeing quite that shade of pink on the high cheekbones before as Sherlock nodded up to John. This new Sherlock was quite sweet.

“One room. Me and you. Definitely told my mother that … then I had to repeat it to my father as she had to go for a sit down apparently.”

Small talk about some cold cases Lestrade had promised to bring over took up the rest of his visit. He was at the door when another name occurred to him – “Janine?”

“Oh I’m sure Janine will be able to come up with something to pay for renovations on that nice cottage she got on the Downs.”

“So you and she never …?” Lestrade ignored the warning glance from John; he’d always wondered how far Sherlock would go for a case.

“No Greg, we never … whatever it is you’re thinking of. Nice enough girl but, you know, women – not really my area.”

“To be honest, I didn’t think anyone was your area Sherlock.”

John was still on the arm of the chair, Sherlock’s hand had appeared around his waist. The doctor leaned over and whispered something into the dark curls.

“Sometimes it’s nice to discover something new. Thanks for returning my gloves, and please give my best to Donovan when she recovers.”

Lestrade nearly missed the last of the stairs when he realised that Sherlock had got his name right.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I wasn't so slow. I wish I wasn't so long winded. Believe me there is smut in my head, it just seems to run away when I try to think of a reason for it. Maybe I'll surprise myself one day by writing something really rude that has no bearing on plot or character at all. Even more of a surprise would be writing something quickly - how do people do that?


End file.
